


kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep

by darlingmisslovette



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Jimmy is a mother hen, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, The Author Regrets Nothing, Thomas is a stubborn sick baby, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, don't underestimate Mrs. Hughes, or the importance of tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4356281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingmisslovette/pseuds/darlingmisslovette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Could you--”<br/>“Could I…?”<br/>“Nothing.”<br/>“No, not nothing. Could I what?”<br/>“Just… stay, for a little while?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Tumblr prompt: “Most people are away at a fair, but Jimmy and Thomas stay behind. Thomas because he’s caught a stomach bug and trying to hide it and Jimmy because he wants to be with Thomas, and Jimmy looks after Thomas” [anonymous]
> 
> I sort of left out the "stomach" part of "bug" because there's just nothing cute or romantic about that... but aside from that it's pretty much what it says on the tin :) 
> 
> Comments/critique welcome, but please keep in mind this isn't really a serious work or anything, just some mindless fluff :3
> 
> Feel free to pop over to my tumblr and send me a prompt if you like! You can find me at: the-posh-git.tumblr.com
> 
> I think that's it... enjoy!
> 
> [title from Prelude 12/21 by AFI]

No one else had noticed.

  
There were just small tells, really… Things you would only see if you were paying close attention. The fact that Thomas was a shade more pale than usual, in the middle of the summer when the colour of his skin should have been edging toward a tan with all of the garden parties and picnics he had been serving at. The fact that just at the edge of his carefully pomaded hair were tiny droplets of sweat gathering in the hollows of his temples, which he would dab with a handkerchief when he thought no one was watching. The fact that the past two nights he had been one of the first to excuse himself after dinner, when he usually remained with a cigarette and a newspaper or a deck of cards until the hall was nearly empty. It was all quite subtle; not even Mrs. Hughes had noticed yet.

  
But Jimmy had. In all honesty, Jimmy hadn’t realized he was so knowledgeable about Thomas’s idiosyncrasies until they had become disrupted by whatever was currently bothering him. It was probably that bug that had been going around-- a couple members of the family had caught it the week previous, and Thomas had been one of the servants roped in by Mrs. Patmore to carry back and forth bowls of soup and cups of tea. Not that Thomas would ever admit to it of course: even if he could get a couple days of rest out of it, he wouldn’t want to jeapordize his shot at eventually being promoted to butler after Mr. Carson.

  
So when everyone started getting excited for the travelling fair coming in on Saturday, Jimmy knew exactly why Thomas was so quick to offer to stay at Downton and keep an eye on things. Mrs. Hughes did ask if he was certain, but didn’t pry when Thomas gave a vague answer about having to mend a couple of his shirts anyway, so it was “truly, no trouble at all,” and if his curt smile was really more of a grimace she didn’t seem to catch it. Thomas exhaled in relief when she accepted his offer and turned her attention elsewhere.

  
Later, after Thomas had gone up to bed for the night, Jimmy pulled Mrs. Hughes aside.

  
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t want to make a big deal about it before,” Jimmy paused and she motioned for him to continue, “it’s just that after the whole incident at last year’s fair…”

  
Mrs. Hughes face lit in understanding, and she nodded sagely. “Of course, James. I’d completely understand if you’d rather stay here on Saturday. It’s really a lot to ask Mr. Barrow to watch all of Downton on his own, I’m sure he’d be grateful for the help,” she smiled and patted his arm as he sighed in a practiced show of alleviation.

  
“Thanks, Mrs. Hughes. I just… thank you. Of course I’d be willing to stay and help out.”

  
“Think nothing of it. Off you go now, Mrs. Patmore’s just made a pot of tea if you’d like some before you retire for the evening,” she ushered him towards the kitchens.

  
Jimmy’s smile remained long after he had taken his leave: his plan had worked perfectly. No way was he leaving a sick Thomas alone with all of Downton to look after.

~

By the time lunch came around on Saturday and most of the other staff had already headed out, Thomas wasn’t looking any better. He had made himself scarce, mumbling again about the shirts that needed mending as he moved towards the men’s quarters. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were the last to leave, the former making sure that Jimmy knew where to find the supper she had prepared for him and Thomas (chicken soup-- perfect!) and that he knew how to heat it up (“I’m a footman, thank you, not a child. I know how to work a stove.”) before leaving with an exasperated sigh through the kitchen door.

  
Once they were out of sight Jimmy wasted no time putting the kettle on to boil. His mother had always said that the best thing for a speedy recovery was a nice warm cup of tea (and lots of rest and of course chicken soup, but really, tea was the most important bit). In no time at all he was quietly making his way up the stairs with a cup and saucer balanced carefully in his hands. He came to a stop outside of Thomas’s door and tapped on it gently-- Jimmy figured it was a possibility he was asleep and didn’t want to wake him if that was the case. He needn’t have worried, the reply came almost instantaneously.

  
“Is someone there?”

  
Jimmy pushed open the door and peeked inside. “It’s only me, Mr. Barrow.”

  
Thomas looked at him a moment before smirking (although it lacked his usual ironic mirth). “Well isn’t that the understatement of the century. Come in, then,” Thomas was sitting on the edge of his bed, and he actually did have a shirt on his lap that he was apparently sewing a sleeve back onto (how one of Thomas’s shirts lost a sleeve, Jimmy really didn’t want to know).

  
“I just came to ask if you wanted some tea,” Jimmy said as he walked over to set the cup on Thomas’s bedside table, to show that what he really meant was _I brought you a cup of tea, you’re going to drink it whether you want to or not_. “I didn’t think you were serious about the shirts.”

  
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Jimmy, when have I ever lied about my activities?”

  
“You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

  
“Nope, no I do not,” Thomas laid aside his work and took a sip of his tea. He made an appreciative murmur. “That’s good. You could give Mrs. Patmore a run for her money.”

  
Jimmy pretended to look indignant. “You sound surprised! I thought you knew I was a tea enthusiast.” He sunk down into the desk chair without needing an invitation. “Besides, any tea tastes fantastic when you’re sick. Do you mind?” he picked up Thomas’s mending, again without invitation.

  
If it was possible, Thomas paled even further. “I’m not sick,” he said stubbornly.

  
It was Jimmy’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, don’t try that with me. I could see it from a mile away. There’s no shame in being ill, Mr. Barrow, it happens to princes and paupers alike.” Jimmy examined the stitching on the shirt in his hands. “Look, you’re sewing is suffering for it as well. Why don’t you let me take care of this?”

  
“I appreciate it, Jimmy, but there’s really no need--”

  
“Nonsense, I insist. You should get some rest, I’ll take care of things downstairs.” Jimmy gathered the shirt in his hands and stood from his perch.

  
Which is when Thomas shivered and reached for his tea.

  
“Oh, not a fever too?” Disregarding all unspoken boundaries they had set for themselves, Jimmy reached out to press his fingers against Thomas’s forehead.

  
Thomas ducked away and narrowed his eyes. "Your hands are freezing!"

  
"That's because you're burning up!"

  
"Really, I feel fine," Jimmy looked at him incredulously and Thomas held his gaze with his own narrowed eyes, and the standoff lasted about five seconds before Thomas shivered again and brought his tea closer to his face.

  
"Alright, that's it. Under the covers, go on! I'll be back in a moment and I swear if you're not in bed by the time--"

  
"Alright, alright. Fine. Have it your way. But it's really not necessary..." Thomas's protests grew weaker even as he pushed down the blankets on his bed and settled back against the pillows.

  
Jimmy abandoned the torn shirt on the chair he had occupied previously and threw one last narrowed glance over his shoulder, to which Thomas raised his hands palms forward in surrender, before darting through the half-closed door and across the hall to the washroom. He quickly filled a small bowl with cool water and grabbed a washcloth off the nearest shelf. There wasn't much he knew about treating fevers, but a wet cloth on the forehead seemed pretty straightforward. He walked slowly back to Thomas's room so as not to spill anything, and smirked when he got inside. Thomas had indeed surrendered and was buried under at least two blankets. He wasn't quite laying down, more sitting against the headboard and propped up by the pillows, but his head had drooped down against his chest, his breathing was shallow, and his eyes were definitely closed.

  
There was a soft clink as Jimmy placed the bowl he carried onto the nightstand, and Thomas's head snapped up. "I wasn't-- I was just resting my eyes," he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand as if to make sure he hadn't been drooling.

  
"Sure. Now finish your tea," Jimmy handed him the now half-full cup and dipped the washcloth into the water he had brought.

  
"I'm not an invalid, Jimmy, you don't have to..." Thomas trailed off as Jimmy wrung the water out of the cloth and brought it to rest against the warm skin of his forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed, apparently (finally) realizing that resistance was futile. Plus, it did really seem to be helping. "That's... actually quite nice."

  
"See? I do know a thing or two. You should never doubt me again." He sat down on the bed next to Thomas, who sipped at his tea contentedly while Jimmy wet the cloth once more.

  
"Mm. My mistake." Thomas opened his eyes again as something occurred to him. "Why didn't you go to the fair with the others?"

  
Jimmy scoffed. "Are you kidding? Besides the fact that I couldn't very well leave Downton in your not-so-currently-capable hands... How would I survive another fair without you to distract the angry men whose money I win?"

  
"They were mostly angry because you were cheating," Thomas's gaze was intense despite his light words. "I'd have thought you'd have learned your lesson."

  
Jimmy merely shrugged and pressed the cool cloth against his head once more. “I’d have thought you learned your lesson too, jumping in to take other people’s beatings.”

  
“But you know I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Thomas replied solemnly.

  
“I know,” Jimmy said, placing his free hand over one of Thomas’s. Their eyes locked as they both looked up from the point of direct contact, and after a moment Jimmy cleared his throat and looked away. “Right, so,” standing, he dropped the cloth into the bowl on the nightstand, “Mrs. Patmore left some chicken soup, which I think will do you good after you’ve gotten some rest, so I’ll bring that up later on. In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll just be--”

  
“Could you--” Thomas seemed to think better of whatever he was just going to say and firmly pressed his lips together.

  
Jimmy would have none of that. “Could I…?”

  
“Nothing.”

  
“No, not nothing. Could I what?”

  
Thomas looked down at his lap and his cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink. “Just… stay, for a little while?” He cringed, waiting for Jimmy to refuse, laugh or flee. None of which occurred.

  
"Of course, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy moved back to the desk chair he had occupied before, once again taking up the torn shirt. "My stitching is much better than yours anyway, I'll have this done in no time."

  
Thomas chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Oh please, you wish. I taught you everything you know," and with that he settled back into the pillows.

  
Jimmy merely hummed in agreement and focused on not sticking himself with the needle-- his stitchwork may be a shade better than Thomas's, but he hadn't been doing it for as long and his fingers weren't yet as deft without a thimble to protect them. By the time he had finished the sleeve and looked up again, Thomas was soundly asleep.

  
Smiling fondly at him, Jimmy brushed his damp hair off of his forehead and pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple before slipping out of his room and down to the kitchens.

~

When everyone returned, long after nightfall, Jimmy was sitting at the table with a cup of tea waiting to finish locking up. With all of the excitement no one other than Mrs. Hughes even thought to ask after Thomas, which Jimmy was grateful for. Her and Mr. Carson weren’t the last ones to come in for the evening, but when they did Mr. Carson offered to take over for him, because it really was “a bit too much responsibility to be placing on a footman, Mrs. Hughes!” (To which she tutted and waved him away to see to some business or other).

  
“I suppose Mr. Barrow’s already gone up for the evening then?” Jimmy nodded and Mrs. Hughes hummed in agreement. “Good. Seemed to me he wasn’t feeling his best earlier, a full night of sleep is just what he needs.” Perhaps Jimmy had underestimated the woman. “You’d best retire as well, James. Lord Grantham’s requested an early breakfast tomorrow and we need everyone looking sharp! Don’t worry about the locking up dear, Mr. Carson can’t sleep if it’s not him that does it anyway.”

  
Jimmy smiled, bid her goodnight, and began making his way towards the stairs.

  
“James?” She called him back before he had gotten very far at all. “We really do appreciate your help today-- and I know Mr. Barrow would never admit it, but I’m sure he was glad for the company as well.”

  
“Oh it was no trouble at all, Mrs. Hughes. It was my pleasure,” he insisted, and Mrs. Hughes patted his shoulder before being called away by Mr. Carson again.

  
Jimmy turned toward the stairs once more, but instead of going straight to his own chamber, stopped by Thomas’s to check that the man was still asleep and had a fresh glass of water on his bedside table.

  
When their eyes met over the table at breakfast the next morning, and much of the colour had returned to Thomas’s face, Jimmy raised his eyebrows ( _I told you so_ ) and Thomas rolled his eyes and looked away ( _I wasn’t_ that _sick... but thank you_ ).


End file.
